Divergence
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: Voldemort is dead, but in his place is an eleven year old Tom Riddle pulled out of time, with no idea what is going on. He's got a lot to catch up on, and Harry has a lot to teach him. AU. Follows canon until book 5.
1. Conflicted Victory

**Title: Divergence**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary****: Voldemort is dead, but in his place is an eleven year old Tom Riddle pulled out of time, with no idea what is going on.**

**Setting: Harry's ****sixth year. AU. Conforms to books 1-5, pretty much. Borrows some stuff from #6, but mostly ignores HBP canon.**

**Author notes: **

_Right, well. A couple of years ago now I wrote a story, _The Riddle of Existence_, where a young Tom Riddle was pulled into the present. Some of it was good, apart from typos, careless errors, and a hideous Mary Sue. shrugs apologetically _

_Anyway, apart from that, the basic idea wasn't too bad. So I'm __taking the prologue from it and rewriting it for this story. This one, however, won't be too much about Harry – it's more about the anachronistic young Tom, and how he deals with the world it is the way it is now, and the person his past self became._

_Substantially inspired by _Who We Are_ and its sequels by_ PersephoneKore and Alan Sauer. _It too deals with an anachronistic young Tom. Apart from that though, I'm writing this to be quite different._

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**DIVERGENCE**

**CHAPTER ONE**

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Harry Potter limped away from the body of the white, red-eyed creature that had caused him so much grief over the last fifteen years. His leg was bleeding, and one arm dangled uselessly, but Harry still had things to take care of before he could finally rest. He stared down at the unconscious boy on the floor in bewilderment. Harry had absolutely no idea what to do with him.

He stared down into the white, unconscious face of Tom Riddle. He had slightly messy black hair and a symmetrical, faintly-cherubic face that promised to become handsome as he matured. He was rather thin, and looked slightly malnourished, in a way that reminded Harry of how he looked at that age. The boy couldn't be any older than twelve.

A shudder went down Harry's spine at the thought of what Voldemort had been willing to do to his own, younger self. "The ultimate measure to insure immortality," Voldemort had sneered at him. Killing Harry would have sealed the ritual he had planned to perform. Harry sighed and pointed his wand with his good arm.

"_Enervate_."

Riddle's eyes opened and widened in fear. He tried to scramble backwards, but was too weak and disoriented to do more than move a foot or so away. Harry gave him a tired, twisted smile.

"It's alright," he rasped at the frightened boy. Now that he was awake, Riddle looked even younger than Harry had taken him to be. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm guessing that you're from Hogwarts, too. How old are you?"

Riddle tried to speak but coughed instead. He was dehydrated and his tongue was dry and swollen. So was his throat. It made speaking difficult.

"Eleven," he finally managed to croak. He was almost in as bad a shape as Harry was. "Is that horrible wizard-thing gone?" So Voldemort hadn't even bothered to tell the kid who he was. Probably he didn't want to admit that he had once been this frightened boy. Harry wondered if even the Death Eaters knew.

"He's gone," Harry confirmed. "Come on. We need to get out of here before the Death Eaters come back."

He limped to the door and looked cautiously out into the hallway. Tom joined him as he began to descend the stairs.

"Who are you?" Riddle asked after a few minutes.

"Harry," Harry replied shortly, looking for the door and heading towards it. "Harry Potter."

"I'm Tom Riddle," Tom offered. "Thomas, really."

He received no reply as Harry was already walking outside. He followed him out and was in time to see the Knight Bus appear out of nowhere with a loud _bang_.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, the – "

"We know," Harry interrupted tersely. The conductor got a good look at him.

"_Bloody hell!_"

One of the prospective passengers was dishevelled and looked half-starved, while the older one was not only extremely dirty and bleeding profusely, but also happened to be Harry Potter.

Harry ignored this.

"Here." He shoved a handful of coins at him and boarded the bus. "Make sure Tom gets some hot chocolate. We want to go to … the Ministry."

Harry had almost said Hogwarts when he remembered that the site was hidden to most people. Grimmauld Place was out, too; Riddle hadn't been given its location. Harry decided to try and Floo to Hogwarts from the Ministry. He limped heavily down the aisle and sank onto a bed, exhausted.

Tom watched timidly, unsure of what was going to happen now, before deciding to do the same. He was handed a mug of hot chocolate by the conductor and was about to take a sip – it smelled wonderful and he hadn't had a drink since this morning, and no food since the day before yesterday – when the bus took off. He was almost catapulted into the aisle but grabbed onto the bed in time. Hot chocolate sloshed out onto the mattress.

As the bus turned corners the bed slid across the floor with him on it. Tom watched their progress apprehensively.

"Time Square, Mrs Hambleton!" the conductor announced suddenly. The bus jerked to an abrupt stop. Tom's bed slammed into the one in front of it while the empty bed behind him slammed into his own. Tom leaned over to look at Harry, who was in the bed he'd crashed into, only to find him fast asleep. He shook his head and wondered how Harry'd managed it. Perhaps he'd been knocked out.

As the bus travelled, Tom learnt the trick of holding onto the bed and drinking the hot chocolate at the same time. It was difficult, because if you took a mouthful at the wrong moment then hot chocolate could slosh out of the mug onto your face, but he managed it eventually.

He was just taking the last sip when the bus jolted to a stop.

"Ministry for Magic, Mr Potter!"

Gingerly Riddle shook Harry's shoulder. Harry groaned.

"We're here," he told Harry.

"Alright, Harry said, his eyes still shut. He was weak from the amount of blood he'd lost. "Give me a minute."

Riddle did so, glad of a moment's rest himself. The bus had thrown him about a lot, and like Harry, he wasn't in very good condition right now.

"Oi!" It was the conductor, impatient with the delay. "Look 'ere, wot's taking so long?"

"I think he's really hurt," Tom said nervously, looking at Harry's white face and the large wound in his leg. "Help me get him up."

The conductor was nervous too, now; it had obviously occurred to him that there was some, admittedly remote, chance of the hero of the wizarding world dying on his bus. That was the kind of incident his superiors would take badly.

Harry groaned as they helped him to his feet.

"Hey!" said the conductor, alarmed. "You need an 'ealer, you do!"

Harry shook his head. He had to get to Hogwarts so that something could be sorted out about Tom.

"Tom," he said faintly, "help me out."

Rather unsteady himself, Tom supported Harry out onto the footpath as the bus took off with a rattle and a sputter of exhaust. They were standing in a dingy street decorated with incomprehensible graffiti and a pub further down. Close by was a cheerfully-red telephone box that Harry began walking towards. To Tom's surprise he ignored the 'Out of Order' sign and dialled.

Tom jumped violently as a disembodied voice greeted them and asked their business.

"Harry Potter and Tom Riddle," Harry said wearily. He was swaying. "We're trying to get to Hogwarts."

After a moment two silver badges popped out. Harry stuck one through Tom's collar; squinting and trying to read it upside down, Tom realised it said 'Tom Riddle' and underneath that 'Transportation Arrangements.'

With a judder the telephone box began to descend. Tom yelped in surprise, and an instantly later had to slow Harry's fall as the elder boy's legs gave out under him. The lift doors opened onto an enormous hall with fireplaces running the length of it, the floor made of polished marble and the ceiling peacock blue. Tom didn't take more than a moment to glance at it though; he was helping Harry to his feet and to the nearest fireplace.

Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and turned to Tom.

"Make sure you speak clearly," he instructed, turned to the fireplace and announced, "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts!"

Tom watched worriedly as Harry vanished in a roar of green flames. He scooped out his own handful of powder, dropping it all over his shoes, and obediently repeated,

"Headmaster's office, Hogwarts!"

Green flared around him and he shot out of the fireplace, immediately falling face-first over the body sprawled in front of it. Apparently Harry had finally lost the fight for consciousness.

"_Oof_."

Tom rolled off Harry and glanced around. Yes, it looked like it was probably the headmaster's office.

"Harry?" He shook the older boy's shoulder. Harry's head lolled, but he didn't look anywhere near conscious. Tom stood up and looked around helplessly.

His eyes came to rest on the portraits that covered the walls. He spoke to the nearest.

"Erm, do you know when the headmaster'll be back?"

There was a sound behind him. Tom turned, to see himself looking at a tall, thin old man with a white beard that stretched nearly to the floor.

The piercing blue eyes were instantly recognisable, even after fifty years.


	2. Hospital Wing

**Title: Divergence**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary****: Voldemort is dead, but in his place is an eleven year old Tom Riddle pulled out of time, with no idea what is going on.**

**Setting: Harry's ****sixth year. AU. Conforms to books 1-5, pretty much. Borrows some stuff from #6, but mostly ignores HBP canon.**

**Author notes: **

_Harry and Tom have lots of decisions to make next chapter, and quite a lot to deal with in different ways._

_Last chapter I mentioned _Who We Are_ and its sequels by_ PersephoneKore and Alan Sauer. _They can be found at _

www _dot _sugarquill _dot_ net/read _dot_ php?storyid1091&chapno1

_Hopefully FFN will not delete the URL this time._

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**DIVERGENCE**

**CHAPTER TWO**

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"Professor Dumbledore!" Tom cried out in astonishment and relief. "You're _old!_"

Almost immediately he realised that this was not the thing to say.

"Erm – I mean – " Tom broke off in embarrassment and confusion. He decided to just pretend he'd never said anything and flung himself onto his knees by Harry again. "Professor, he passed out! When I came through the Floo I fell on him! I think he needs a healer, but he insisted on coming right here. I don't think he knew what to do with me," he added.

Tom had never particularly liked Dumbledore; the man always seemed far too percipient, especially when Tom was up to something, which he usually was. But he was a professor you could count on _doing_ something in a crisis, and Tom watched in relief as Dumbledore also knelt next to Harry and examined him.

"I believe that Harry needs to see Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said at length, and with surprising strength scooped Harry into his arms. His eyes turned to Tom, sternly considering. "I suggest that you accompany me."

Tom was further relieved at this. He didn't want to be left by himself. He followed willingly as Dumbledore went down a revolving staircase and through a door into the castle proper. He continued to follow him through corridor after corridor until suddenly they were outside the hospital wing.

Dumbledore strode in and laid Harry on a bed, calling "Poppy!"

-

"My goodness!" Tom looked up from Harry's unconscious face to see a startled mediwitch standing in the doorway to the matron's office. She was staring at Tom as much as Harry.

Madam Pomfrey pulled herself together and bustled forward, tutting and briskly running her wand over Harry's unconscious form. She tutted some more.

"Hmm, broken arm, nerve damage, I would guess from multiple Cruciatuses, he's got the corresponding strain on the heart, serious lacerations to the right leg, grazing, dehydration." She shook her head at his condition. "He'll need a blood-replenishing potion, several nutrient potions and probably a stamina potion as a restorative. I'll put him on Nervus Nostrum to heal the Cruciatus damage as soon as he's finished on the blood-replenishers. In the meantime, best keep him sedated."

Tom was staring in horror.

"He got here with all _that?_" Tom couldn't believe the list of injuries. Harry had been walking around, talking normally, with that kind of damage? He must have been in so much pain!

At his outburst Dumbledore's eyes flicked over to him sharply. Something in Tom flinched back at the stare. This was beyond considering; it was _calculating_. And right now it was calculating exactly how much Tom was worth.

Tom blinked and struggled not to be overwhelmed with the feeling that Dumbledore had a very bad opinion of him indeed. He did his best to push the feeling away and asked in a small but determined voice,

"Sir, what's going on?"

The calculation in the professor's eyes changed instantly to thoughtfulness.

"Perhaps you should explain to me how you came to be with young Mr Potter and I will do my best to fill in the gaps," Dumbledore suggested thoughtfully.

The mediwitch was busily working on Harry, but as she worked she sent Tom little glances out of the corners of her eyes.

-

"Erm," Tom was feeling very uncomfortable now, well-aware that there was some big thing he was ignorant of, "A couple of weeks ago, now, I think, I was lying in bed trying to get to get to sleep, um, it was difficult because Prince kept snoring," Tom found himself rambling nervously. "Er. Yes. And as I was lying there, it was like a big hole opened up beneath me, and I fell through it, and next thing I know I'm lying on the floor of some big old house with a bunch of people in black robes and white masks all around and the scariest man I've ever seen standing in front of me."

Tom couldn't entirely suppress the shudder that came over him at the memory. The warped inhuman features, the red eyes, the cruel, psychopathic smile… He glanced at Dumbledore, but the man was still patiently waiting for more.

"He was all _wrong_, professor. He was too pale, and didn't have a nose, or hair, or lips, and his eyes were red, and didn't have eyelashes either. I don't think he had any hair _anywhere_. But it was worse than that, because – well, you could get used to how he looked I think if he'd been a nice person but he _wasn't_. You could tell just by looking at him that he was the kind of person that likes hurting people. You got the feeling that what you saw on the outside, that was how he was on the _inside_ too. Maybe even worse. Anyway, he went off into some kind of speech about fulfilling some kind of plan and how he'd conquer the world, and all the others cheered. Then he smiled at me and told two of them to put me in the dungeon. The two of them grabbed me and took me downstairs where there were all these cells, and locked me in one."

Tom paused again to rearrange his thoughts.

"Sometimes they'd come in and torment me a bit, calling me names and hexing me, but otherwise they more or less left me alone. It wasn't too bad, wasn't like I was starved or anything. Then after a couple weeks of that I got dragged out again and brought to the one in charge who, uh, uh – " remembered terror prickled over his skin " – said that I was the perfect sacrifice to finally ensure his immortality. Then he did some kind of spell, but I can' remember much of that because it – hurt. A lot." He shrugged helplessly. "Next thing I knew Harry was shaking me awake, and at first I thought he must be one of the followers or something, but he said it was okay and asked me how old I was and after I told him said we needed to get out before the Death Eaters came back. As we were leaving I saw that the other wizard was lying on the floor. He looked pretty dead." Tom swallowed. The perversion of nature had looked even more twisted and unnatural in death than he had alive. Even less human. "Harry summoned this big purple bus and said that we wanted to go to the Ministry, then went to sleep until we got there. We Flooed through to the headmaster's office from there, and Harry went first and when I came through he was passed out on the floor."

-

Tom took a deep breath and looked at Dumbledore. The man seemed to be thinking deeply about what Tom had said.

"Sir, what is going on?"

Dumbledore gazed at him thoughtfully before he finally spoke.

"The 'wizard in charge', as you put it, is an infamous dark lord who goes by the name of Voldemort. His goal in life is – or rather, was – to conquer the wizarding world, exclude muggle-born and halfblood witches and wizards from the wizarding world, and to rule over the muggles. His followers are known as Death Eaters. Both the Death Eaters and Voldemort are well-known for their fondness of torture and the use of the Killing Curse."

"Oh." Tom thought that they sounded even worse than he'd thought. "What did they want with me, though?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"I can only suppose that Voldemort discovered some means by which he could pluck you from the past and pull you into the future," he said. "You are fifty years beyond your time. I do not know precisely the reason why Voldemort wished to use you in particular for his ritual, but I have no doubt that it had something to do with the fact that you are his past self."

The world tipped sideways and Tom clutched wildly as he staggered back, fighting to keep his balance. Dumbledore reached out a hand to steady him, but Tom had wrapped both hands around the end of the bed as though it was his life and stared at the headmaster.

"M-me, sir?"

"I am afraid so, my boy," Dumbledore said gently. "You took a dark and twisted path within a few years of beginning here. By the time you graduated, the darkness had consumed you completely."

Tom tried to grab hold of something as the blackness rushed up, but there was nothing, only Dumbledore's grave face and the matron standing in the background, her almost-frightened expression familiar enough that Tom at last connected her name to the girl in his class at Hogwarts. _Pomfrey._

_Poppy… _and with that last thought Tom passed out completely, the ground rushing up to meet him unseen, already swallowed by the black mist.

**oo o0o oo**

Harry found himself floating three feet above his bed, gazing at his ceiling. Almost as soon as he realized this, he dropped like a stone.

"Aargh!"

Madam Pomfrey came rushing in at the sound of his fall and his anguished yell. She found Harry sitting on the broken remains of his bed with a bewildered expression.

"I was floating," he told her. "Actually floating above my bed. And then I fell."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. She'd heard stranger things.

"Oh dear," she grumbled, helping Harry up and bundling Harry into the next bed, "side effects, I was afraid of that. Although I haven't heard of anyone flying before."

"Floating," Harry corrected her drowsily, already drifting off to sleep once more.

"Hmph. You shouldn't even have been awake at this point. You're still full of potions."

Harry almost wondered what had woken him up, but was asleep before he could work out that it was the latest in a series of pangs of muted anguish that didn't seem to be his. He slept quietly, dreaming of a small black-haired boy sitting in an empty room and staring with haunted, unseeing eyes at the pages of the book in front of him.

_A Chronological and Complete History of the First Rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort._


	3. Adjustments

**Title: Divergence**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary: Voldemort is dead, but in his place is an eleven year old Tom Riddle pulled out of time, with no idea what is going on.**

**Setting: Harry's sixth year. AU. Conforms to books 1-5, pretty much. Borrows some stuff from #6, but mostly ignores HBP canon.**

**Author notes: **

_Here's some more from Harry's point of view. And Tom recovers enough from his confusion and shock to be a little more, well, Tom._

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**DIVERGENCE**

**CHAPTER THREE**

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Harry woke up to find himself in the middle of a party.

-

He was pulled to wakefulness by the persistent sounds of chatting and laughing, and groggily opened one eye to see a blurry mass of people around him. He groped around the bedside table that he knew from experience was there, feeling half-empty bottles and what seemed to be a box of chocolate frogs before he found his glasses. He put them on.

The world resolved itself into a clear picture that proved to be half of the Gryffindor sixth, seventh, and fifth years clustered around his bed eating and drinking, while the wireless played faintly in the background. He blinked at the sight of Ron and Hermione lip-locked near his bed.

"Er." The whole environment failed to meet his expectations of reality. Had he wandered into another universe, where Ron and Hermione acknowledged their mutual attraction and Madam Pomfrey allowed parties in the hospital wing? He kind of hoped so. He liked parties.

"Harry!" Ron roared, he and Hermione breaking apart to beam at him. At his shout almost everyone in the room whirled to face him, and with more or less simultaneous yells of "_Harry!_" raised their glasses or bottles before tossing back what was clearly the latest in a succession of drinks, mostly alcoholic. Harry just watched, bemused.

"So I guess Voldemort's really dead, then," he remarked.

There was another round of cheering and toasting.

"Definitely," Hermione confirmed. She was slightly red and very bright-eyed. "Dumbledore got there first, called the Aurors, who in turn called the Unspeakables in, and Dumbledore says everyone agrees he's definitely gone for good this time."

Harry let his eyes close for a moment as he contemplated this. He could do whatever he wanted now, go wherever he chose, free from responsibilities –

_Except for Riddle._

Harry's eyes shot open.

"_Riddle!_" He launched across and grabbed Ron by the shoulders, "what happened to him?"

Some of the excitement died.

"Oh. Him." Ginny played with the cherry in her martini glass. "Dumbledore's got him. I think he helped Dumbledore find where Voldemort's body was," she added unwillingly, doubtful that Tom had actually been helpful.

"Evil little git," Dean snorted. Apparently the story of Voldemort's origins and Ginny's possession had got out, judging by people's expressions. Harry didn't like him either, but this struck him as a bit unfair.

"He might be a git, but he's not evil, he's a kid," Harry snipped. Ginny made a rude noise. "He is, Gin. And right now he's confused and alone and horrified." Harry stopped. Carefully he tried to work out how he knew that. He found it; the pulsing link at the back of his mind, filled with guilt and horror and despair. He squinted, concentrating.

_There._

Sure enough, Tom – for that was how he thought of himself, even if he didn't like having his father's name – was sitting in Dumbledore's office, trying to read while the portraits kept an eye on him.

"Right," Harry decided, and stood, fighting off the wave of nausea that rose with him. He grabbed the box of chocolate frogs and a couple of bottles of butterbeer and headed out.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, sounding worried and oddly frightened.

"To Riddle," Harry called behind him, "someone needs to sort him out. There's a chance he might not turn into the person he did before, but for that he needs help."

He left.

-

Harry wandered up to the headmaster's office, where to his surprise the gargoyle leapt aside for him without him saying anything. He trudged up the escalator.

No, Harry didn't like Riddle, but he could hardly ignore the emotions feeding through their link. He walked into the office.

Sure enough Tom was curled up in a large armchair, with the on-edge, brittle look of someone who is determined to read despite a room full of suspicious, staring eyes centred on him.

"Clear off," Harry told the portraits, "you look like a flock of vultures."

There was outraged spluttering and offended mutters, but Harry plonked himself down in a chair near Riddle's and looked at him.

Riddle continued reading, but twitched uncomfortably in a way that said he was aware of Harry's scrutiny. His awkwardness infected Harry, too, so that Harry didn't quite know what to say.

"I brought you a butterbeer," he informed Riddle, waving the bottle aimlessly. "And I brought some chocolate frogs, thought we could share them…. What are you reading?"

Riddle muttered something unintelligible without removing his nose from his book.

He was using it like a shield, Harry noticed, and remembered how good at school the other Riddle had been. Perhaps books had always been his shield…

_I am a Gryffindor,_ Harry told himself. _Gryffindors rush in._

"I'm guessing you found out about Voldemort. I'm also guessing that somehow his ultra-secret identity got out somehow, also possibly the story of some events involving Ginny Weasley a few years back. And you're" _- horrified, agonized, self-loathing _– "a bit upset."

"Who says?" sneered Riddle. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose at his tone and the all-too-familiar expression on that face.

"_Do me a favor and don't sneer at me_," Harry said evenly, suppressing his reflexes as best he could. Riddle jerked backwards, eyes wide, and Harry realised belatedly that he'd spoken in parseltongue.

"You – you're a –"

"Parselmouth," Harry agreed, grabbing the chocolate frogs and offering the box to him. After a moment's hesitation Tom took one.

"Look," Harry sighed, "I'm not much good with this sort of thing, so I'll keep it short. You're not evil. Believe me, I know evil when I see it, and you're not it. Sure, you might be a rotten little git, I wouldn't know, but plenty of people are rotten little gits at your age and turn out alright. Anyway, you don't seem that bad to me, just a bit, antisocial. Voldemort was evil, yeah, and he might have once been you, but that was a long time ago and he became a different person. Not Tom Riddle; Voldemort. Different name, different face, different life. You could turn out like him, or you could decide to do things differently. It's your choice. But you're not alone. I'm willing to help how I can," he finished.

Tom stared at him for a moment.

"If that was your idea of a tactful reassuring speech, it didn't go very well."

Harry was encouraged by the more-or-less neutral response. He shrugged airily.

"I'm a Gryffindor," he explained. "We don't need to do tactful." He tossed a chocolate frog packet at Tom.

Tom caught it.

"That sounds to me rather as though you're using it to your advantage."

"What can I say? I have some Slytherin instincts."

"How could you possibly help me?"

Harry was surprised by the direct question.

"Don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Keep people off your back, pay for school stuff, I guess. Set Hermione on you every time you do something you shouldn't. Teach you interesting spells." Guarded feelings from Tom. "Offer you a home, even. My godfather left me his place and I stay there in the holidays with my friends, and I suppose I'll be moving in there sooner or later. I'll have to clear it out, though, the place is like a mausoleum. But you're welcome to live there too, if you want. You can have your own room and everything."

Harry felt a rush of strong, confusingly varied emotions through the link, emotions that Tom instantly tried to squelch.

"Why would you do that?" Tom wanted to know.

"Well, you need to live somewhere," Harry pointed out. "It's not like you could just be fostered out or sent to an orphanage, now, and I wouldn't be happy with that anyway, not exactly going to help you grow up decent, is it? And no wizarding family would touch you with a ten foot pole."

"Not that!" Tom glared at him. "Why would _you _be willing to take _me _in?" he demanded imperiously.

"Oh." That was trickier. Harry considered the question. "Well, I have some sort of responsibility for you, I guess," he mused, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, it was Voldemort who pulled you forward in time, so that's not my fault, but I found you there and brought you with me, so I can't abandon you now. And you'll probably need protection from idiots who think you're evil, and I'm the best person to protect you. Besides, I didn't go to all the trouble killing Voldemort just to let someone else grow up and become just like him. And I suppose, also, because I grew up pretty badly myself. I could eventually have become like Voldemort myself, I think, if I hadn't had my friends. I was just lucky. I couldn't abandon someone else to that kind of situation if I had any power to keep them out of it. Is that a detailed and frank enough answer for you?" he finished.

"Fine. I want to live with you, then," Tom decided. "But don't think that means I'll do what you say, or that I like you. You're just doing this because someone has to, and I'm going along with it because it's better than anything else."

Glowering at Harry, Tom savagely bit the head off his chocolate frog. He looked into Harry's eyes as he did so.

_Rotten little git_ is right, Harry thought gloomily. This was clearly going to be just as difficult as he thought it would be.

**oo o0o oo**

A week later Harry had revised his opinion. It wasn't as bad; it was worse.

Tom had clearly recovered from the shocks of the past few days, and while he may have decided not to become a psychopathic, evil person, he hadn't decided to become a nice one either. 'Rotten little git', in fact, was the perfect description for him. Harry was currently fighting the Ministry over him while Tom stayed hidden at Hogwarts. It was looking as though the only way out of it was going to be adopting Tom himself and personally ensuring his good behaviour. Otherwise, the Ministry argued, he presented an enormous threat to the magical community. Harry wasn't entirely sure that they weren't right. But he'd made a promise, and he had to stick to it.

At the end of term Harry, Hermione, and Ron all moved into Grimmauld Place. Ginny refused to join them on the grounds that it meant living with Tom, as well.

Tom looked around suspiciously.

"This is a dump," he announced. He wandered over to stare at Mrs Black's portrait, covered with curtains. "An old, enormous dump." He reached forward, about to poke the portrait, but Ron quickly pulled his hand away. Ron and Hermione weren't too happy about Tom either, but unlike Ginny they were willing to give him a chance despite their deep suspicion of him, seeing how much Harry wanted them to. Unfortunately, Tom wasn't taking that chance.

"We'll work on it," was all Harry said. "And no pocketing anything," he warned. "It's not yours, and anyway, half this stuff is cursed to bite your nose off." Harry had discovered while they were still at Hogwarts that Tom had an unfortunate habit of stealing things. They'd only worked out what was happening when one of Dumbledore's spindly metal things started whistling stridently from Tom's trunk. Now Harry regularly searched all of Tom's things, while Tom himself sat sullenly watching, feelings of resentful hate crawling down their bond in oozing smears.

"Huh," was all Tom said, as he wandered off to explore.

"And no setting fire to anything!" Hermione yelled at his retreating back as he vanished up the stairs.


	4. Grimmauld Place

Title: Divergence

**Title: Divergence**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary: Voldemort is dead, but in his place is an eleven year old Tom Riddle pulled out of time, with no idea what is going on.**

**Setting: Harry's sixth year. AU. Conforms to books 1-5, pretty much. Borrows some stuff from #6, but mostly ignores HBP canon.**

**Author notes: **_We begin to find out a little more about why Tom is so difficult._

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**DIVERGENCE**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

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The last week and a half had been really, truly awful even by Tom's standards. It had been bad enough finding out all about what his older, evil self had been up to for the last fifty-something years, but it had been more than that. Everyone had found out who Tom was – or at least, that Voldemort had once been Tom – and he'd found himself getting called names and attacked in the hallways. Dumbledore had given Tom his own suite in the castle for a bit (under the watchful gazes of half a dozen portraits), not only because he wanted to keep an eye on Tom (he understood Dumbledore's not-quite-hostile mistrust now) but for his own safety. During the day he had Tom sit in his office. Tom suspected there were wards of some kind in there.

It had also been borne in upon Tom that he was fifty years in the future now, and that it was a very different future to what he could have imagined. The spells were different, the history was different, the people were different. Everyone went around talking about things he hadn't heard of, in language he didn't understand. And the older boys and girls were sometimes scandalisingly indecent. Once he'd spotted a boy and a girl in one of the hallways, up against the wall. It wasn't simply kissing – Tom had seen the odd chaste kiss, before, after all – but hungry mouths on mouths, tongues moving, pressed against each other, hands inside clothes. And moaning. No one in Tom's time ever moaned like that. Tom had stopped short in horror, and a moment later the girl had seen him out of the corner of her eye and broken off the kiss – with a sort of slurping, sucking noise that made Tom feel a bit ill – and called out, "oi, there's some kid watching us!"

The boy hastily looked around to glare at Tom.

"What the hell are you staring at, you little perv? Get lost!"

He looked as though he'd rough Tom up a bit if he didn't go away, so Tom fled, deeply shaken and shocked. The morals here were clearly very different.

-

It had looked as though things were looking up when Harry finally stopped being unconscious and wandered in to talk. Tom couldn't believe someone actually wanted to look after him, even if it wasn't actually about him. Maybe he'd actually have some sort of weird family or something now, he wondered. Before he could talk to Harry more Poppy had burst in, scolding and threatening, to drag Harry back to bed. Harry sent Tom an apologetic and sheepish look, meekly obeying the mediwitch's orders, as though he couldn't have got her to leave him alone perfectly easily if he'd wanted. Harry, Tom suspected, was the sort of person who went around humbly and amiably doing almost everything people asked, and saved getting his own way for the important things.

He was proved right when that redheaded bint friend of Harry's told someone at the Ministry about him. She'd come smack up to Tom and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him until his eyes rolled, telling him in a low threatening voice exactly all the things she was going to do to him, starting with her telling the Ministry he existed. She'd banged him against the wall hard enough to make him see stars, then walked away. Clearly Harry's offer of protection didn't apply to protecting Tom from his friends, Tom thought. He felt sort of angry and hurt at this, because in spite of himself he'd allowed himself to hope that Harry really _did_ intend to protect him.

Still, Harry had certainly protected him from the Ministry. He stayed perfectly reasonable, but simply became immovable. He told the Aurors that he wasn't going to allow them to take Tom, and that if any of them tried then he was very sorry, but he would stop them. Harry told them this in a perfectly friendly way, even greeting a couple of them by name. But when they'd tried to abduct Tom anyway, Harry simply stunned them all and attached them to a portkey that sent them back to the Ministry. A while later an even larger contingent of Aurors arrived, this time with the Minister. Minister Scrimgeour had been quite disagreeable, but Harry had been very polite the entire time. And when Scrimgeour had threatened him Harry, still smiling but quite serious, replied,

"Then I will disable everyone in the Ministry one by one until they are no longer a threat to me or anyone who is under my protection. And Tom is one of them." He'd added frankly, "I'd rather not have to do that, though, because while it would be rather nice to sort out the wizarding world I think it would be far too much work to run it all properly."

After that Harry had been going every day to talk to people like the Wizengamot, presumably over Tom. He was still doing that when term ended at Hogwarts and he, Tom, Ron and Hermione all moved into Harry's house.

-

"And no setting fire to anything!" Hermione yelled from behind him as he started up the stairs.

Tom rolled his eyes. He set something on fire _once_, and now Hermione brought it up every time he went anywhere! He hadn't meant for the fire to get so out of control. But that seemed to be Hermione all over.

Tom didn't quite like Hermione. Not only did she nag everybody, but she acted like he was a little boy. Tom was only eleven, but he wasn't stupid. It galled him the way Hermione talked as though he wouldn't understand or know about what she was talking about. He was the best student in his year, him, and Professor Dippet himself had said he was brilliant! Brilliant! Not just intelligent, but _brilliant_. But Hermione seemed to think he was some sort of idiot.

He didn't know why Harry put up with it. He liked Harry rather a lot. He was smart and friendly, and when he wasn't being Gryffindorish and amiable, reassuringly Slytherin. If he'd had a family, Tom would have wanted someone like Harry for an older brother. But Harry was only keeping Tom to stop him getting into trouble, so there was no use thinking about things like that. Tom would just have to be grateful for what he had. The thought made him even grumpier.

-

Tom wandered about the old house. It had no doubt been a very expensive house, once, but now it was in quite some disrepair, especially the bits of it people weren't actively living in. The woollen carpets had been eaten by moths in places, and the brocade wallpapers were stained and peeling. There were strange, sinister ornaments here and there that Tom, mindful of Harry's warning, was careful not to touch.

Eventually Tom found a bedroom, a guest room by the looks of it, that had clearly been abandoned for a long time. It was cream and gold, with faded bedclothes in a light green. Against one wall was a chest of drawers; against the other was a stand containing a washbasin, and a dressing table with an ornately-carved mirror. It had clearly been a girl's room, but Tom liked it all the same. If it weren't for the thick layer of dust over everything, it would make quite a habitable room.

He eyed his wand speculatively. There were rules about under-age magic, of course, but even if there hadn't been adults living in the house (making it impossible for the Ministry to know that it was _him_ performing magic) this was the home of a noble and highly wealthy family, which meant it probably had all kinds of wards to prevent anyone detecting what went on in the house.

Tom's smile was sly.

"_Pulvis purgeo_."

-

Hours later Tom wandered back downstairs in search of dinner, tired but satisfied. His room was now clean, and neat, and appropriately furnished with items relocated from elsewhere in the house. After all, he supposed, it wasn't actually stealing, and he'd only taken things from abandoned rooms that clearly belonged to the house, so that should be fine with Harry.

Tom found the kitchen fairly easily and trudged in to find Harry preparing dinner, Ron frowning at the newspaper, and Hermione trying unsuccessfully to help Harry. So far she seemed to be making a mess with eggs.

"Get out of the way," Tom told her irritably, pushing her aside, "that's not how you do it."

Over the next few minutes he became Harry's helper, expertly assisting Harry with various tasks, Hermione watching first in annoyance, then interest. Eventually Tom plonked plates and cutlery on the table and Harry served food on to each plate.

Tom cheerfully flung himself onto a chair and began to eat.

"You're good at cooking," Hermione observed. Tom looked up; she looked genuinely curious, and without her usual superiority.

"Used to help with it at the orphanage," Tom explained. "Most of the other boys didn't because it was 'women's work', but it was a lot easier than some of the other stuff. Cook put me in charge as her assistant because she said she needed someone with sense."

"Well you did a good job tonight," Harry said. "No offence, Hermione, but you're hopeless."

Hermione scowled at him while Ron sniggered. She didn't really seem to be offended, though.

"So what'd you get up to once you vanished into the depths of the house?" Harry asked Tom. "I could feel you doing magic up there."

Tom glanced up guiltily, but Harry was smirking a little. Tom relaxed.

"I found a guest room," he explained. "It's nice. It was all dusty though, so I was cleaning it up a bit and moving things about. I borrowed a bookcase from one of the other rooms, and some things with snakes on them that I liked. I checked them for curses first, though."

"I'll have to go have a look at it later," Harry said. "But I'm glad you found somewhere you liked." He hesitated. Tom could feel that he was suddenly hopeful, apprehensive, excited and other things too subtle for Tom to discern. "There was a final Wizengamot meeting this afternoon about what's happening to you, Tom. The paperwork all needs to be filled out, but…" swallow "I've been granted guardianship of you. So we're, sort of a family now."

Tom blinked at the rush of emotions from Harry. Pride, uncertainty, hope, happiness, worry…

"You want _me?_" he blurted out, and immediately cringed at having said that out loud. He glowered at everybody to show he wasn't some kind of wuss or anything.

Harry looked surprised.

"Well, I guess so," he said, as though he hadn't really thought about it. "I mean, you're a bit of a handful, and sort of enraging, but –" he shrugged again " – I'm committed to you, I guess."

"Oh." Tom looked at his feet.

"I don't really know how to go about this whole guardian thing, but I'll try," Harry said awkwardly. "I guess, to start with, you follow some reasonable rules, like no stealing, or setting things on fire, or imitating Hermione behind her back –"

"What?"

Oops. He hadn't realised Harry had seen him doing that. He looked apprehensively at Hermione. She was glaring at him indignantly. Ron, though, seemed to be fighting a grin that suggested that he too had seen Tom's mimicry.

" – and keeping you room clean and doing your homework and not being unspeakably rude to guests, unless we don't like them either – "

Hermione interrupted again with an admonitory "Harry!" Ron was definitely sniggering this time.

" – and I'll do stuff like make sure you get food, and clothes, and stuff, and no one threatens you or beats you up or anything." He'd completely ignored Hermione's interruptions, but now he hesitated. "And we'll see where we go from there."

"Oh." For some reason this whole discussion had rendered him unusually in ineloquent, Tom thought. Warily, daringly, he decided to test Harry's words.

"What about the Weasley girl, then?" he glared, arms crossed in a posture of definite _I'm not impressed by your unreliable promises._

All three of them blinked.

"What about Ginny?" Harry said.

Ron and Hermione exchanged _uh-oh_ looks.


End file.
